


Give Me The Soundtrack, And I'll Write You The Story

by ScratchyWilson



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Drabble Collection, M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-15
Updated: 2010-10-15
Packaged: 2017-10-27 16:01:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/297594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScratchyWilson/pseuds/ScratchyWilson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ten drabbles about Eames and Arthur.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Give Me The Soundtrack, And I'll Write You The Story

**Author's Note:**

> For the drabble music meme from LJ:
> 
> 1\. Pick a character, pairing, or fandom you like.  
> 2\. Turn on your music player and put it on random/shuffle.  
> 3\. Write a drabble related to each song that plays. You only have the time frame of the song to finish the drabble; you start when the song starts, and stop when it’s over. No lingering afterwards!  
> 4\. Do ten of these, then post them.

**1\. Samson- Regina Spektor**

It didn’t seem fair to Eames. Although, it wasn’t as if he and Arthur had actually worked that first job together. Their first meeting was an awkward passing-by of the forger-thief, who the backer decided the team couldn’t do without, and the point man-thief that would’ve gotten the job under any other circumstance.

But it was the principle of the thing.

He had known Arthur before Dominic Cobb or even those pretentious waistcoats were in the picture. If he weren’t so good at deceiving even himself, he might have considered what it meant that he counted that first job as the beginning, that glance at the kid who at next meeting- the one when they actually shook hands, exchanged names- had given up his decently good thieving skills for a fast growing reputation of the best point man money couldn’t buy.

 **2\. Beauty and the Beast- Beauty and the Beast**

It was a tale as old as time. Opposites. They hadn’t even really been what anyone could call friends. They spent all their free time, pent up energy sniping at each other. Making cutting comments about professionalism, imagination, anything really they could use as ammunition.

But who bent first? When did their banter gain that extra spark of challenge?

Arthur was pondering this, until it struck him that a Disney song was the most accurate description of his growing attraction to Eames. His forehead made an audible thump against his desk that reverberated through the warehouse.

 **3\. Just Dance- Lady Gaga**

Arthur would never admit it to anyone. Especially not Eames. The man would never let him live it down. But he loved Lady Gaga to an unhealthy degree. And it wasn’t just the damn catchy pop tunes that she unfalteringly churned out like clockwork. He could almost justify it to himself by analyzing the lyrics, her interviews and oh my god the videos. His mind had been wandering doing research on his most recent mark and found himself wholly engrossed in a blog delineating the postmodern approach to military and gender roles in Alejandro.

And so what if he was imagining Eames in a speedo, heels, and horribly bad bowl cut? He just smiled to himself and resisted the urge to sing out loud on the metro.

 **4\. Bagatelle in F, Op. 33/3- Beethoven**

Eames was weighing his options. Let some of his meticulously crafted reputation as a debauched cad be fairly well deemed null and void, or impress Arthur.

I suppose when you put it like that, there isn’t much of a choice.

He prayed muscle memory would help him out on this one; he was no Glenn Gould, but he could play bagatelles with the jauntiness they required once upon a time, and he just hoped he wasn’t about to make an incredible fool of himself. He timed it so Arthur would hear the music as he walked in his front door, and hopefully forget that he had broken into an apparently undiscoverable apartment.

 **5\. Rememo- Kings of Leon**

There was nothing but road in front of them. Eames had the radio tuned to some ridiculous station, but Arthur was just too hot and tired of being stuck in an old Buick for the past four hundred miles on their way from Dallas to the Mexican border. He couldn’t remember when a job had ended as badly as that last one.

He certainly didn’t have enough time to veto any kind of escape plan. He just wished it hadn’t been one that reminded him of trips to Coney Island with a mother he barely remembered.

 **6\. My Baby Just Cares for Me- Nina Simone**

Eames slept like a log. You couldn’t wake him even if you knocked him over sideways. It was the reason Arthur had been volunteered to test Yusuf’s claim of having created a sedative powerful enough to stabilize three layers of dreamers while not inhibiting inner-ear function. But always waking up before him gave Arthur plenty of time to just watch Eames and think about how the hell they had ended up in whatever kind of friendship, cohabitation they were in.

He wasn’t the sort for wildly romantic gestures. Contrary to what anyone who had only worked with him once or twice might think, or use his predilection for colorful shirts as evidence, Mr. Eames had subtlety in spades. He cared for Arthur, quite simply, and Arthur was reminded every time a new tie or set of cufflinks wormed their way into his dresser.

 **7\. Everytime We Touch- Cascada**

Eames particularly enjoyed his work whenever it afforded him the ability to shadow a mark to every club in London. Of course there were the posh spots, where they turned away people at the door for wearing the wrong designer of the moment. But his favorites were the factory types, where the booze was cheap, the floor was sticky and the music was so loud it reverberated in your chest. Your heart always tended to beat in time with whatever techno song was most popular that week.

Always in the name of research, he picked up a girl or two to hang off his arm, observed the mark in their chosen environment, and got done with work as soon as his thoroughness would allow. Because then he always downed a shot of whatever the drink of the night was and headed to the dance floor.

 **8\. 11:11- Rodrigo y Gabriela**

Barcelona had been an interesting time in their relationship. It was only the second time they had truly worked together with Cobb, and the first time the calming and mothering presence of Mal was absent. Eames loved the old city, its heat and grit, and adapted to suit it. He slept at five in the afternoon, rarely had dinner until nine or ten at night.

He didn’t understand how Arthur could stand to seem like such a tourist in all his pressed and buttoned glory. He appreciated his form in those lovely gray trousers from across the abandoned building they had made their headquarters, but would enjoy the sight even more if he chose to accept one his many invitations to spend some time lounging on a beach with nothing but sangria.

 **9\. Mal Poli- Yelle**

“You’re fluent in French?” He asked Ariadne one morning.

“Tu me taquines, vraiment! I should hope so after three years of school here.” Her accent was very good.

“Can help me with this summons? My French is passable but really only to order dinner.”

“Uh, legal French is it’s own specialty. I’ll be able to give you the gist—”

“What’s this? Our point man, fearless in front of hired guns and deportation needs a little help avec la langue d’amour? C’est pas possible!” He tried to decide if he could just ignore Eames.

“Didn’t think your flight got until tomorrow Mr. Eames. What a pity.”

“Whatever it is you need, I’m sure I can be of service.”

“How do you say no as impolitely as possible?”

 **10\. Push Comes to Shove- Dirty Penny**

It was the steady thumping of what had to be drums to accompany rock music that drew Eames to Arthur’s desk. He was bent over some negatives—surveillance photos—ear buds firmly in place. Eames could see the slight bob of his head, and his lips moving, obviously singing along.

It was the electric guitar solo that had him really confused. If his taste in art was anything to judge by, Arthur should have nothing but Ravel and Richard Strauss, not something that Eames placed as early ‘80s American, hair-metal.

He coughed loudly, making Arthur jolt up. “Having fun?” Eames smirked and was fascinated by the way the tips of Arthur’s ear tinged pink.


End file.
